The Tree
by bettercrazythanboring
Summary: A mission goes astray when the UST gets a little too hard to bear.


"Will you stop fidgeting?" Holiday asks with a sigh, running her measuring device over the rough bark of a tree stump.

She feels him turn behind her and continue turning, and spin around once more, examining their surroundings with anxiety as he has for the past ten minutes, most uncharacteristic of him.

"I don't think we should be here," he says and his brow is tight above his sunglasses.

She rests her elbows on her knees. "Six, you already did five sweeps of this area. There is no ambush waiting for us in the trees."

"Maybe not," he agrees, "but I'm getting..." He wracks his brain for Rex's oft-used phrase. "The heebie jeebies?"

She chuckles and finally turns back to him, hands still actively taking samples. "And what exactly might be causing them?"

"No idea," he admits. "And I think we should get out of here."

"Six, this mission is something we've put off for over a year. Just... let me do my job, watch my back, and relax. See, I'm taking samples from everything here. If there's anything toxic, the sensors will go right off, okay?" She shakes the little device in front of his face, smiling at his unamused expression. "Stop fidgeting; it's making me nervous." She returns to her position by the tree stump.

"Maybe you should be."

Her head snaps up. "Six, we all know you don't like swamps. We all know you hate places without open fields. But I swear, if you say one more word about this—"

"Fine. Point taken."

"Good."

She returns to examining the wildlife that's produced some weird activity over the years—not enough to warrant inspection while EVOs were out and about, rampaging violently, but enough now that the nanites were mostly deactivated.

He stays by her side all through it, never taking his eyes off the branches above, following stray squirrels and innocent birds. One of his katanas is already out and the only thing that keeps him from leaping in attack mode every few seconds is her rhythmic breathing behind him.

Hours pass in silence and he begins to feel even more uneasy, but in a wholly different way. His eyes keep wandering to her perfect skin when they should be scanning for intruders. His throat is uncomfortably dry, even more so every time his gaze lands on her lips, and he can't help but notice the way her field suit clings to her curves. And that she has curves.

Very nice curves.

Curves his spent all his post-amnesia life trying to ignore.

She keeps working, wiping sweat from her forehead and taking periodic sips of water, her lush, red lips wrapping around the mouth of the bottle and he can't tear is sight away. She takes off her vest at one point because apparently it's gotten too hot and he agrees. Way too hot.

Her breathing accelerates almost imperceptibly—he wouldn't have noticed if he weren't listening to it quite so hard—and, after another half hour, it's shallow and rapid. There's sweat all over her skin and he's certain she hasn't done one productive thing in at least fifteen minutes, and he taps her on the shoulder, wondering what's wrong.

It's only then that he notices his own erratic breathing and his own pounding heart.

She turns back to him with dark irises, a mouth that's getting pink at the edges—probably from biting too much, which she is doing currently—and her breath tickles his jaw.

He doesn't think, doesn't evaluate, doesn't consider, only acts.

She's pressed against the tree behind them and his mouth is ravaging hers, and her arms wrap around his narrow shoulders, and one of her hands tugs on what little hair it can grab onto on his head.

His fingers are running down her sides, down the practical orange fabric of the top she wears under her kevlar vest, and his lips just can't help themselves—they wander over to her neck and her collarbone and, before long, he's nibbling on her ear while her hand is searching for a nearby branch that could offer support to her wobbly knees.

Her arms wind around his neck and she guides his face back to her, biting his lip when he still wants to put it on places other than her mouth, tugging as one of her legs wraps around his waist.

Her fingers fumble with the many different clasps on his own vest as their breaths mingle between their almost colliding teeth, and, once she finally gets it off, she tugs the rough, green sweater out of his pants and runs her hands all over his abdomen, scratching lightly at the taut muscles, which contract at the contact.

His mouth takes hers with new fervor as her fingers wander south, and his own motions leave her zipper open, his digits shoved in what little space there is between her tight pants and the soft flesh underneath

She moans into his lips and juts her hips forward to grant him easier access, rolling them forward in rhythm with his hand.

Holiday pulls the restricting sweater off him as he continues working her groin and runs her nails down his chest, pressing her lips to the lightly bruised skin immediately, kissing and licking the pain away and leaving a trail of her marks all over him.

Six doesn't have the heart to tell her he doesn't feel any pain from her; never has. All she's accomplishing is sending more blood to his crotch, something the heat and moisture around his fingers inside her have been doing a good job of already.

Her kisses burn in the best way possible and he inhales her scent deep into his lungs, straining to keep it there, and his teeth grind against themselves so hard there must be pebbles left behind in his mouth, but it doesn't matter because her tongue is working slippery against his mouth once more.

His hands grip her chest and her back, fighting to hold onto her when it feels the air has become solid and the ground is crumbling around them, and he nearly bites her ear off when her fingers find their way into his pants.

He rescinds his wet digits from her and, after licking them in a way that sends a sharp tug down to her belly, hoists her up against the tree stump with one last rough bite against her collarbone., He yanks her trousers down on one side so that they hang limply off one of her knees, leaving a trail of slight pink on her legs, and he drives himself into her, muffling her yelp with his lips.

He thrusts up, running his thumb over her exposed nub in erratic circles, and her mouth opens in a silent scream as her breath hitches up and down her throat, sucking the dip of her neck into the vacuum in her air pipes, but never actually leaving her mouth.

His fists tangle with hers above her head, pressed up against the tree bark, and she mewls when he withdraws his thumb from her.

His thrusts grow progressively more uncontrollable and she aids them with a tightening in her hips and, god, she can't see anything but him. She can't even really see him, to be honest, only a blur of green in a sea of tingly black, and all she feels is heat.

She throws her head back as his hands clasp down on her hipbones, holding them down while he pushes them together again and again. The motion shoves her breasts right into his face and he can't resist sucking on one hard nipple through the orange fabric between his grunts.

She squirms and lets out a whine at the contact with his teeth and, in her quest to bring them even closer together, she lunges herself at him, causing them to lose balance and fall backwards to the mossy ground. He doesn't stop driving into her and her eyes are almost rabid as she leans forward and bites down on his collarbone. Hard.

He growls at that, an actual primal sound coming from deep in his throat, and the sound sends shivers down her spine, causing her inner muscles to clamp down on his and release a piercing cry as her body twitches out of her control.

He uses the opportunity to flip them and return his teeth to her neck, not slowing his thrusts one bit. A bead of sweat runs down his forehead and onto her skin and her chest is heaving up and down, expanding to sizes she didn't think were possible and, oh, lord this friction.

His fingers find their way back to her clit and they're trembling from the exertion of his muscles, and he just gives up and does his best to vibrate them, flexing his lower arm muscles so hard for the motion that he's sure his grip won't be able to hold anything for days.

He kisses her again, roughly and without apologies, and swallows her whimper when it feels like her lower body has gained sovereignity and she can barely even feel the individual sensations anymore. All that she knows is it feels amazing, whatever it is that's happening to her.

She grips his shoulders and pulls him closer and her nails leave blood trails on his back and still he continues moving his fingers so fast they almost vibrate.

"Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeesus!" she manages when he hits something inside her that makes stars dance in front of her eyes. "I'm— Fuuuuuuuck!"

She comes again with an intensity that leaves her stunned, mouth gaping and wide eyes blinking without rhyme or reason, and he arches his back, practically howling at the red sky as his cum spurts out of him.

He rides her for a moment more before collapsing next to her, certain he'll never be able to breathe normally again.

Dirt sticks to his bare chest and his pants are covered with all manner of sticky fluid and he runs his fingers down her bare legs, only now noticing that his shades are cracked.

Her orange top is torn in places and her sides are covered in handprints that he's sure will fade far too soon, and he keeps staring at that tree while his mind tries to work through the haze this encounter has left in its wake.

"I told you there was something off about this place," he says at last.

She turns her head, letting out the most heartfelt snort. "You still think we should have left?" Her fingers run over his slackened shaft with a smirk. She can't quite remember why she's never jumped his bones before this.

He scans her face for a moment. "I'm just saying. There was reason to."

They never do find out what exactly causes every person entering the vicinity to lose all control over their already prevalent urges, but, boy, do they take advantage of it.


End file.
